224 WILD WINGS 



haunts and habits of this mysterious tribe than of any order 

 in the system of ornithology. While a very few of the species 

 linger on our Southern coasts, the great mass of them push 

 on for the far North. Nor do the bulk of them stop till they 

 are where the curiosity of man can seldom disturb their pri- 

 vacy. The eggs and nesting habits of a number of these 

 species are hardly known to science. Their summer home is 

 the barren grounds along the arctic sea. In the damp moss 

 near some pool, upon the cold ground, still frozen underneath, 

 in the early part of June they scratch a slight hollow, build 

 a rude, frail nest of grass, and lay four eggs, pyriform, or 

 pear-shaped, drab-colored, and heavily blotched \vith black 

 or brown. 



Somehow, the mystery and romance surrounding the lives 

 of these dabblers in margins make strong appeal to me. 

 From the time when in boyhood I first heard the clear whistle 

 of the Yellow-legs over the salt marshes and the long-drawn, 

 plaintive notes of the plovers on the bay flats, or saw the 

 nimble band of sandpipers upon the ocean front chased by 

 the surf, I have longed to know more of them all. And, 

 though I have not yet roamed quite within the arctic circle, 

 latterly I have been far enough north to find at least strag- 

 glers from the main body settled down to breed under essen- 

 tially arctic conditions, and to secure some photographs of 

 these birds from life, which are probably the first of such 

 ever made. 



Never shall I forget the thrill of my first experience with 

 these Northerners in their summer homes. It was on the 

 Magdalen Islands, in the stormy Gulf of St. Lawrence, well 

 up toward southern Labrador. The day was the thirteenth of 

 June, clear and cold, the air of the early morning having 

 almost the sting of the frost. With a companion and a guide 

 I was exploring the extensive marshy barrens of the East Point 



